


In the Dunes of the Cape

by objectlesson



Category: The Great British Bake Off RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Drinking, First Time, Instruction/Teaching, M/M, PWP, Power Bottom John, Rebound Sex, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:41:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27090637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson/pseuds/objectlesson
Summary: James and John have dirty rebound sex after the show.
Relationships: James Morton/John Whaite
Comments: 11
Kudos: 14





	In the Dunes of the Cape

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HurdyGurdy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HurdyGurdy/gifts).



> I wrote this for my friend for her birthday some months ago, and never posted it because RPF is sort of weird always but ESPECIALLY weird when its bake off contestants who aren't famous, not really. They're just normal guys. I feel kind of bad about having written about them? But I like this story and its cute and watching the newest season of GBBO made me think about it, because there's a contestant this season who talks OFTEN and FONDLY about John, and I think its safe to say he was very cute and probably a lot of people's gay crisis/awakening, so. Here's some porn about him and James, who ABSOLUTELY had a crush on him.
> 
> Also I wanted to post it anon but I couldn't figure out how to do that??? so I guess everyone knows its me. sorry folks.

“I truly _can’t_ believe you came all the way to Chorley for little old me,” John singsongs, batting his pretty long lashes over his equally pretty hazel eyes as he twirls a the paper umbrella from his drink between deft fingers. James actually lets himself notice the prettiness and the deftness for the first time since taping ended a year ago, and it feels very odd and anticlimactic, how little trauma the realization stirs up. He can’t really remember _why_ he felt the need to run from all anxiety he harbored regarding John, but he certainly feels rather foolish about it, now. “I suppose this is what happens, when you get spectacularly dumped. People start feeling sorry for you,” John adds with a pout. 

“Stop, I've been _meaning_ to see you. It just so happened the visiting stars aligned right _after_ you got spectacularly dumped,” he offers, sipping his pina colada and wincing. It’s dreadfully sweet and shockingly strong. He’s only finished half and his head is still spinning. He thought he might have to be the one to get John drunk tonight, but John whipped these up with his fancy blender in the kitchen the moment James arrived, so it seems he’s already well on his way to getting them _both_ drunk himself. “And remember, I was dumped, too.” 

“A whole _four months_ ago. And you didn’t even tell me until it was old news. I don’t think it was quite _as_ spectacular,” John sighs, pulling on his plump, pink lower lip with his thumb and forefinger.

James’s gaze snags on that, too. John’s mouth is shapely and soft looking, and James tries on the thought of kissing him for the first time. 

Or maybe not the _first_ time. He’s certainly thought about it before, but he’d been so terrified and shocked and confused by the weird invasive way it crept up into his mind, then, that he’d shut it down. So perhaps he’s trying it on _willingly_ for the first time. Reaching it out and touching it, like one tests the water in the shower to make sure it’s warm enough to step into. “It wasn’t spectacular, not really, I’ll give you that,” he says, settling back into the posh embroidered cushions on John’s couch, stretching. “We’d just grown apart. We were friends, room mates by that point. Made it easier.” 

James does not tell John the way his ex girlfriend told him _maybe you should date a man, next time you date_ as she packed her things up from his flat, hair drawn into a tight, severe ponytail instead of her usual loose waves. _That John bloke from the show you were so fucking obsessed with._

 _“_ Sounds all too familiar,” John breezes, polishing off his pina colada and slamming the empty glass down on the coffee table with a clatter. “Paul and I had stop effectively functioning as boyfriends _at least_ a year ago. So. Maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised.” 

“Stopped functioning—stopped having sex?” James risks, cocking his head, cheeks burning with the effect of the rum. His head is already spinning and he doesn’t know how to flirt, _especially_ not with a man, _especially especially_ not with a man he’s only just coming to terms with having has confused feelings about for literally as long as he’s known him. 

John turns to him with a scandalized expression his face, eyes bright, mouth slack. “God! Wouldn't _you_ like to know,” he teases, shaking his extraordinarily soft looking fringe off his brow to shoot a coy look at James. “I didn’t know we were the sort of friends who talked about sex. Maybe the sorts who traded hot goss, got all weepy-eyed over baking memories—but not sex. _My goodness._ You are full of surprises. _”_

James gets up to refill their drinks, and once he's alone in the kitchen he notices his hands are shaking. _Not sex_ is ringing in his ears, but he also can’t shake the flirty, titillated way John was looking at him. Has _always_ looked at him, if he’s honest. He’s not sure he would have had his whole stupid sexuality crisis in the first place if John hadn’t _put the idea into his head_ by messing with him all the time during the show. He did it with everyone, really, it was his sense of humor, to be flirty and bawdy and talk in double entendres. But James was likely the only one still cradling those memories close, obsessing over them and moving them around in his hands until they became smooth, faded, broken in. He takes a deep breath, grabs a glass in each hand, and bravely heads back into the living room. Their fingers touch as he hands John his drink, and it makes his stomach clench up in terrified anticipation. “Cheers,” he says. “To the both of us and the ends of our sexless relationships.” 

John snorts, rolls his eyes, and takes a very long swig. “It wasn’t _always_ sexless,” he qualifies, holding up a finger for emphasis as he swallows with a shudder. “In fact, it was downright _steamy_ for a long time,” he explains with a wistful expression. “But I guess that’s the one good thing about breaking up with a long term partner—new dick. I can’t wait to be slutty again.” 

James coughs into his drink. “If you don’t mind me asking…how long has it been?” he chokes out, averting his eyes to the carpet. 

“How long since _what?_ Since I was slutty or since I actually last fucked? Because god—I’m pretty sure even if you’re in a monogamous relationship, once a slut always a slut. A slut of the soul. I have always been soulfully slutty,” he announces, spreading a hand over his chest. “But it’s been—ugh, over ten _months,_ really, since I did anything about it properly. Maybe even a year, if m’ honest. Or longer. What a tragic tale.” 

James sees his opportunity, and so he chugs a good amount of the Pina colada very rapidly before blurting, “You know—we could. If you wanted to. No pressure, but. I’m not opposed to the idea.” 

John stares at him from the couch where he’s sitting with his glass, bare feet gathered up under him as much as his very tight skinny jeans will permit. Striped vest clinging to his ribcage and collar bones. Sweat beading at the hollow his throat. _He’s fucking fit,_ James lets himself think, breath sharp and audible as he sucks it in. Waiting. 

“We—we could what?” John asks. “It sounded like you were suggesting we hook up but _I know_ you weren’t, so. Clarify, please. Because as we’ve established, I’m a slut. Meaning I will _definitely_ take you up on the offer. So you should be careful about what you’re offering.”

James swallows, the force of it making his throat ache. “I’m offering—to. You know,” he says awkwardly, gesturing towards the hallway which he assumes leads to John’s bedroom, though he’s not sure. He didn’t exactly get the grand tour upon arrival. “To fuck. If you’re interested.” 

John actually _laughs_ at him, tilting his head back and shutting his eyes, grinning at the ceiling as his shoulders rock in mirth. James wonders if there’s a worse response to receive after a proposition, frowning into his drink. “I told you, no pressure if you’re not into it,” he says, cheeks burning. 

“And I told _you,_ be careful, because I _will_ take you up on it,” he says, schooling his laughter his still grinning brilliantly. He smoothes his hair dramatically and sets his drink down with a flourish. “I always knew you had a bit of a crush on me,” he says slyly. “I just wasn't sure _you_ knew. And certainly never thought you’d come on to me and suggest we have rebound sex.” 

“I was an idiot during the show,” James admits, twisting his sweating glass between his palms nervously. “I didn’t know what I felt. Or I knew but I was stupid about it.” 

“Aw,” John says, sitting up and knee-walking closer to James on the couch, breath hot and fruity and boozy and delicious as he exhales a breathy laugh. “You’re cute. And sad.” 

James musters as much courage as possible and turns to him, gaze landing on his pink lips. “I know what I want, now, though.” 

“Oh? And what’s that?” John asks, settling back and letting his arm fall casually behind James like a teenager putting the moves on the girl at the cinema. It works, though, and James’s heart picks up in his chest as John delicately brushes his knuckles over the back of his neck. 

_To take you to bed. To touch you,_ James thinks wildly as he twitches in his jeans, stomach in knots. _To suck your cock._ He’s not sure he can actually say any of those things aloud, though, or talk at _all_ with the way his throat is tightening, his pulse pounding. So instead, he reaches out and cups his hand around the back of John’s neck, and pulls him in to kiss. 

The press of their lips does not seem to catch John off guard, even though he makes a cut off squeaking sound in the back of his throat at the contact. He recovers in record time and pushes James out onto his back, bracketing him between his knees, kissing him again and again, deeper and deeper until he’s licking right into his mouth, their tongues sliding wet and filthy together, stubble scraping. “Mmm,” he says as he pulls back a bit to lick a messy line up James’s jaw, lashes fluttering against flushed cheeks. “I had a bit of a crush on you, too, to be honest,” he murmurs. “ _God._ You feel good.” 

John feels good, too, but James still can’t remember how to talk. He’s just rubbing his hands up and down his back, feeling out the shape of his spine, the tuck of his waist, the cut of his shoulders, the shift of his shirt over his skin. When he pushes lower to squeeze his ass through his jeans, his breath catches in his throat and comes out in a nervous cough. “Do I? I’ve never. Um. I’ve never done this before. With a guy, I mean.” 

“I know,” John says, sucking at his neck, knocking James’s knees apart so he can rut against him, rubbing their cocks together through layers of fabric. “I’ll show you.” 

And then, he’s peeling back to pull his shirt over his head, revealing his pale chest in its dusting of fine brown hair. James stares, and wants to lick him, and _lets_ himself want to lick him. “You’re so fit,” he huffs out, touching John’s sides with experimental strokes, thumbing over his ribs.

“You’re cute,” John murmurs, and it’s patronizing but encouraging at the same time, how confident he is, how much he’s taking charge. James settles back into the couch, untucking his shirt from his jeans and undoing his flies. John does the rest of the work for him, making fists in his jeans and rucking them down over his cock. “Fuck,”he says as he takes his cock out, curling his very talented hand around the shaft and licking his lips. 

“I haven’t sucked someone _new’s_ cock in—god. A few years at least.” He clambers down onto his stomach on the couch between James’s bent knees and flicks his tongue over the tip in a sweet kitten lick, making James tense up and gasp. “I’m glad it’s you,” he says gently, before locking eyes with James and taking the whole of him down his throat effortlessly. 

Suddenly, the flat disappears. The whole _world_ disappears. It’s replaced with nothing but static and heat and unimaginable slickness. James has obviously had blowjobs before but never in his life have they felt so—so _thorough._ John is swallowing him down, fucking his mouth open wide on James’s shaft steady and rhythmic, staring at him all the while as if to survey his own prowess, to track what it’s _doing_ to James as he bobs his head. 

When he pulls off, James practically sobs, fist tightening in the cushion beside him. John teases over the tip with his tongue. “God, you’re easy,” he says, smiling brilliantly. “You doing ok?” 

“Yeah. Fuck. Very ok,” James slurs, uncementing his hands from there death grip and flexing his fingers in the air before laying them on John’s head, petting his ultra-soft hair as he guides him back to his cock. “You’re very good at that.” 

“I know,” John sighs before he sinks down again, gagging himself a bit before pulling off again gasping. “Only because I _really_ like it. Honestly a travesty I've been wasting my talent on _one_ ungrateful dick.” 

When he returns to sucking it’s with more purpose, his tongue pressed taut to the underside, creating an overwhelming suction. James keeps whimpering and dissolving, heart nothing but thunder as he cards his hands through John’s silky hair. Just when he’s starting to feel close to coming, though, he pulls off messily, gasping. “Are you up for fucking me?” he asks casually, palming up and down James’s spit-slick cock.

“Erm,” James murmurs, seeing stars as he rips his gaze away from John’s coy expression, his pretty eyes, his swollen mouth. He _definitely_ wants to fuck him. He’s totally thought about it, wondered if John was the sort of gay guy who liked to be fucked, or do the fucking. But now that it’s on the table, he feels bowled over by it, overwhelmed by his own glaring inexperience with such matters. “I don’t really know how.” 

“I will make it very easy for you,” John says, sitting up, shaking his fringe from his eyes and smiling down as James conspiratorially. “Let me rephrase: would you like to lie there while I lube up your cock and ride it?” 

James chokes, hiding his face temporarily in his own shoulder and inhaling from the comfort of his shirt before turning back to John. “Yes.” 

“Great. I thought so,” he says, climbing off, tenting the front of his jeans. “I’m going to grab condoms and lube and also fucking _undress_ so I stop making my dick raw on my zipper. And you just wait there and stay hard.” Then, he dashes away down the hallway, which presumably leads to his room. 

Staying hard is not an issue. James is _very_ turned on, so he just pants on the couch while he touches himself idly, thinking about how good John’s mouth felt, how nice it felt to touch his fever hot skin, how he can’t wait to rub his palms all over his chest greedily while he fucks him. Or, lets John fuck himself _using his cock._ He’s not sure how it will work, exactly, but he feels like he’s in very capable hands. 

John returns, naked and holding a bottle in his fist and a condom in his teeth. His cock is very pretty, pink and hard, surrounded by neatly trimmed auburn curls. His _ass_ is even prettier, though. James stares at is, the pert round curve, the pale skin, the muscular flex as he walks over. “I used to stare at you,” he murmurs, still transfixed. “When I stood behind you, in the tent. I’d look at your ass. Think about how perfect it was and think I was like—jealous because my ass wasn’t as fit. I don't know. I was jumping through a lot of hoops.” 

John laughs. “Well, you can make up for your past regrets by fucking it, now,” he says, voice muffled around the condom. He palms over his own firm cheek before he mounts James, spitting the condom out onto his chest. “Put that on,” he says, sitting back and squeezing a generous dollop of lube into his palm. “I’ll get myself ready.” 

“I can get you ready,” James says, ripping the condom open and rolling it down his cock. “Show me.” 

“A gentleman!” John announces, reaching around to rub the lube into his crack, slicking himself up as he shifts closer, straddling James’s hips. “Just—here,” he murmurs, taking his wrist and guiding him between his thighs until the tips of his index and middle finger nudge up against the tight, puckered muscle of his hole. James’s skids to s stop before it takes off again, racing, his mouth quite suddenly dry. 

John kisses him, perhaps to distract him. “Push your fingers into my ass,” he murmurs into the gasping wet of Jame’s parted lips. “Stretch me open. Get me wet.” 

And _god—_ the whole thing is so hot. The raw scrape of John’s voice. The heat of his body. James _really_ likes the way it feels, the clutching tightness and initial resistance followed by hot, smooth _give._ It feels less complicated than a girl, in some ways: there’s fewer folds and ditches and valleys and he can _tell_ he’s doing it right because John is groaning, backing up onto him, holding his wrist steady as he sits down onto his fingers, knuckles sinking deep. “Fuck, perfect. God. It’s been way too long since I got fucked.” 

“Ill fuck you really good, I promise,” James says, crooking his fingers and feeling around in side of John’s body, fascinated by the tightness, the _grip. “_ You feel so hot.” 

“I’ll feel better on your cock,” John says coyly, pulling Jame’s fingers out. “I’m ready. Are you?” 

“Yes, definitely ready,” James hisses, already overwhelmed by the sensation as John takes his cock and lines it up with his hole, keeping him in place as he sinks down. It takes several tries before he hits his mark, but once the crown pops in to him he’s sliding down easily, head thrown back as he gasps.

“Fuck. Oh. _James,”_ he groans, shifting up before sitting back down, riding him. “So good.” 

James is terrified he’s going to come like _right then._ John is so tight, he feels maddening, and he _looks_ so insanely pretty as he rides him, chest glistening in a thin sheen of sweat, cheeks flushed. But then, John moans. “Touch my cock. Jack me off,” as he rocks back and forth, fucking himself, and the anxiety of being asked to do yet another thing he’s never done before manages to stave off James’s rapidly building orgasm. 

It’s a good thing. It gives him a moment to breathe. He spits in his hand and curls it around John’s cock, stroking him as he wold stroke himself, firm and slow and steady, stunned by the shift of skin over steel-hardness, the slickness beating at the tip. “Like this?” 

“Ung—yeah, that’s good but, faster. I won’t break. I like it a little rough,” John gasps, fucking himself in earnest now, back arched as he relentlessly bounces on his cock, over and over again. James does as he’s told, quickening the pace of his hand as he touches John, and he _feels_ the effects from the inside out, how John’s hole tightens, fluttering greedily along his cock. 

“Oh my god,” he grits out, lifting his hips and thrusting into him, meeting John’s motions halfway, breath coming out in messy, labored gales. “I—John. I’m going to come.” 

“Fuck,” John grits out, fucking into James’s hand with clumsy abandon. “Not yet—hold on a little longer. I’m—I’m fucking close too. Keep fucking me.” 

And James rips his gaze away from John’s body to stare at some indistinct point on the wall, trying his hardest to fucking disassociate for a minute so he can endure this without finishing too early. Luckily, in a few seconds John is crying out, spilling over James’s fist in sticky white ribbons as his ass starts to spasm and pulse around his cock, pushing him over the edge because he’d have to be superhuman to not come in the clutches of that tight, wonderful grip. 

“Oh god, _fuck,_ ” he cries out, holding onto John’s hip with one hand while he strokes his still flexing cock with the other, shooting off in his ass with his back arched up off the couch. 

He comes _very_ hard, so hard he’s positively dizzy and blind with it, sprawled out on the couch under John’s dead weight, his little tremors. “Ugh,” John says, reaching up and tangling his fingers in James’s curls. “That was—you were quite good for a straight lad.” 

“I don’t think I’m straight,” James admits. “But. Thank you anyway.” 

John makes a pained sound as he heaves himself up off of James, but he’s grinning at him when their eyes meet. “Thank you,” he says then, voice sincere. “The best way to combat spectacular break ups _is_ to have spectacular sex with cuties who got away, _so._ I think I’m feeling much better.” He bats his lashes, and lifts up off James’s cock, wincing, feeling at his hole like it’s sore, but happy. “How about you? Was it good? Worth taking the train all the way up to Chorley for?” 

“Oh, definitely,” James admits, staring at John and _letting_ himself stare, gaze climbing up and down his body with unabashed hunger. It feels good, really, to just do it. To do it because he wants to. “Absolutely worth it.” 


End file.
